Kiss me, Kill me!
by PicklesandPancakes17
Summary: Sam has always dreamed of being a mom, but what happens when her dreams come true? Freddie is the guy in town and he is looking for his missing son. Will he find him and will he fall in love on the way? Rated: T/M characters a little OOC
1. Chapter 1

Sixteen Years Ago

Samantha Puckett had known her life was about to change forever. She just hadn't known drastically. But when her headlights picked out the shape of a lone woman standing beside her car on the roadside, she knew something was wrong. It was the dead night in the middle of nowhere. The woman was leaning on her rusty, lopsided car, one arm braced on the hood, the other, cradling her swollen belly. Her face bore a grimace of pain and no small amount of fear. And, in fact, when Sam flipped on her signal light - though there was no one other than any army of raccoons to see it, she thought- some of that fear changed to visible, almost palpable, relief. The woman- no, she was really little more than a girl, Sam saw as she drove closer- held up a hand, as if to signal her to stop, though Sam had already decided there was little else she could do.

She pulled over behind the girl's car, a primer-colored breakdown-waiting -to-happen, shut her own engine off and got out. The silence of the night struck her as she walked quickly over to the girl. Her shoes crunched on gravel, crickets chirped as if nothing was wrong, and the night birds called out noisily every fourth step or so.

"Car broke down?" she asked, almost hoping it was as simple as that, even though every instinct in her body was telling her otherwise. And her instincts were probably better than most, seeing as how she was a doctor. A new one, yes, but a doctor all the same.

The girl met her eyes, and Sam saw that they were wet. "No, I think I might be in labor."

Sam felt her own quick gasp, but just as quickly as she grabbed hold of her nerves and replaced them with the quiet calm she had learned patients needed from their MDs. "Lucky for you I came along, then. I'm a doctor."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Nope. I'm about to start a new job at Seattle General Hospital."

"That's where I'm going, too!" the girl said, but then she whimpered, and closed her eyes and hugged her middle. "God, that hurts."

"Okay, breathe through it," Sam told her. "Like this." And then she demonstrated, puffing short bursts of air from her pursed lips.

The girl obeyed, and in a moment, as the pain eased, Sam opened the rear door of the girl's car and helped her in. "Come on, lie down on the back seat, where you can be more comfortable until I can get us some help."

"I think comfortable is impossible at this point." But the girl moved anyway. Not far, though. She took two steps, then bent double once more, almost falling to her knees this time. She began puffing those short breathes again. And for the first time Sam felt a real sense of alarm.

Hunkering down to be at eye level with the now- crouching mother-to-be, Sam asked, "How far apart are the pains?"

"Almost constant," the girl whispered between puffs.

"Okay, okay," Sam said soothingly. She waited for the pain to pass, then quickly moved the girl to the back seat. Clearly she was about to deliver a baby. Another birth pang came and went before she got the girl even half undressed. Then Sam had to leave just long enough to race to her own car and grab her bag. In seconds she was back, kneeling on the pavement beside the open car door.

"The pains only started an hour ago. I thought I'd have enough time to get to the hospital."

"Most women would have," Sam told her. "You're being an exception to the rule today. But don't worry. I can deliver your baby right here just fine. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"Then why am I scared shitless?" The girl asked. "Unhh! Oh, God."

Sam tried to project confidence and hide her own nervousness- she'd delivered babies before, after all. Not on deserted country roads in the backseats of barely roadworthy cars, but she didn't imagine many doctors had. She laid a calming hand on the girl's bulging belly and felt the baby move inside. It instigated a wave of silence, but she tamped it down. "It's a miracle, you know. It's a miracle what you're experiencing right now.

"Miracles hurt!" Pant, pant, pant. "Have you ever- oh, hell!- delivered a baby before?"

"Dozens of them," Sam lied. She'd delivered three-exactly three- during her residency, but she'd never had to fly solo, without a nurse or sterile tools or gloves, not to mention a backup neonatal team standing by.

"I'd give anything not to have to do this," the girl moaned.

"I'd give anything to trade places with you right now," Sam told her.

"You must be nuts, then- oh, hell, oh, hell, oh_, hell!"_

"Not nuts, just broken. I. . . I'll never be a mom."

Maybe telling her that would make her realize what a blessing this event was. How important. How special.

The contraction passed, and the girl's expression eased. She studied Sam's face. "You can't have kids?" she asked.

Sam met her eyes. "Nope. I was born defective fallopian tubes and-"

"Oh, _shit!_ Something's happening. I have to push. I have to -"

"Go ahead, push." Sam got low and flattened her hands against the bottoms of the girl's feet so she would have something to brace against. The contraction eased, and the girl fell back, heaving a sigh.

"Relax until the next contraction," Sam told her. "Then we'll push again."

"It's odd, me meeting you out here like this," the girl said.

"We haven't officially met, though, have we?" Sam pointed out. "I'm Samantha Puckett. Dr. Samantha Puckett, but you can call me Sam. And you are. . . ?"

The girl didn't answer. She was gripped by another contraction and then another and the opportunity for conversation was gone, aside from the necessary bits. Breathe through it. Push harder.

It wasn't long before the baby's head came into sight. And with the next push, the shoulders began to emerge. "You're so strong," Sam said. "This is going to be over in no time, hon. Two more pushes, maybe three."

"I want it to be over with _now!"_ the girl cried.

"I don't blame you. Come on, push with me now."

The girl pushed, and Sam talked and comforted, and in short order she was holding a tiny, wriggling baby boy in her arms. He released a series of congested beats, making her laugh softly. "A boy," Sam said. "And he's got a great set of lungs on him, too."

"Is he okay?" the girl asked. "I want him to be okay."

"He's fine. He's absolutely. . . beautiful. God, look at him. He's perfect." Sam sniffed, then tied off the cord, cut it and wiped the baby down as best as she could with gauze and sterile water. She suctioned his nose and mouth with a small blue aspirator, wrapped him in her own jacket, and for just a moment held him in her arms, smiling down at his tiny face. When tears burned her eyes, she blinked them away and gently placed the baby in his mother's arms.

"You should try to nurse him," Sam whispered. She couldn't speak any louder than that for the tightness in her throat. The idea of never being able to have a baby of her own. . . it was a constant twisting blade In her heart. She knew she would be a far better mother than her volatile, passionate, hot-tempered mother had been. "I can hardly wait to see what he weighs, "she added, mentally trying to change the subject.

She helped the new mother clean herself up, got her sitting upright, watch her trying to nurse and then nodded. "Okay, listen. I passed a house a few miles back. I'm going to drive back there, see if I can use their phone to get an ambulance out here for you, and we'll get you and your little guy to a nice clean hospital where you can recover properly. Okay?"

The girl lifted her face, her expression oddly detached. "I thought all doctors had those car phones nowadays."

"Not this one. Not yet. Anyway, I doubt it would work out here even if I did. But I'll be quick."

"And you'll come right back here?" the girl asked.

"_Right_ back. I won't be more than ten or fifteen minutes. And you'll be fine, I promise."

"And the baby, too? He'll be fine, too, alone for that long?"

Sam tilted her head. "He won't be alone, honey. He has you."

"I could fall asleep, or-"

"He'll be fine. I promise." Sam started to back away, but the girl reached out and gripped her hand.

"This was supposed to happen. You finding me here. It was meant to be. I know it was."

"Maybe so."

" For sure. I knew a man once. He always said everything happens for a reason. And that if you want something bad enough, it can happen."

"Well, I'll bet you wanted help pretty badly. Maybe he was right."

The girl nodded slowly, her gaze turned inward.

"Please hurry back."

"I promise. I'll be just as fast as I can."

"Thank you," the girl whispered, and she squeezed Sam's hand before she let her go.

Back in her own car, Sam held her tears in check until she got the vehicle turned around and was headed in the direction she'd come from. But then the dam broke, and the insistent tears spilled over. She knew it was stupid, because there were other ways to have children besides giving birth to them. There were lots of more babies in the world than there were suitable homes or deserving families.

She drove through the darkness, her eyes peeled for the house she'd passed, squinting to see better through her stupid tears. She was starting a new life, a new job- no, a fabulous career- in an idyllic New England town. She was buying the cutest little house she'd ever seen, and she had every intention of raising kids someday. The adoption process was slow, slower yet for a single parent with a demanding job- so it would take a long time. But someday. . . Someday she would have a child, and she would give it the kind of solid, stable home she'd never had. No way was her child going to be uprooted and moved from place to place every time its father got itchy feet. The Puckett home would be a permanent one, a solid one, and it would always be calm and quiet. No loud screaming matches. No physical altercations with the neighbors. No temper tantrums from people old enough to know better. None of the drama she'd grown up with.

No. Her child would have a quiet, loving, peaceful existence, and a hometown. She's always wanted a hometown.

And she was on her way to the one she'd had chosen, she reminded herself. Part one of her dream, all but complete. And even though the waiting lists were long, and even though adoption agencies tended to give preference to married couples over single women, she would get her baby someday. She would.

There! There was the house she'd passed.

She flipped on her signal and prayed the place was entirely dark only because it was 2:00 am. But there was no car in the driveway, and after at least five minutes' worth of pounding on the door and jabbing the doorbell repeatedly, she realized no one was home.

Well, all right. She would just bundle the mother and baby into her car, and take them with her until she found a phone. Or maybe she would just drive them the rest of the way to the city herself. It couldn't be more than two hours away.

Returning to her car, she reversed out of the empty driveway and headed back to where she'd left the young women and her son.

When she got to the spot, however, the primer-colored sedan was gone.

A jolt of alarm shit through her as she drove nearer, wondering if she had the right spot, but she was sure she did. There was her jacket, the one she'd wrapped the baby in, lying in the grass along the roadside, right near where she was sure the other car had been parked. Her headlights picked out the pale green fabric. Sam pulled over and stopped. Surely, the young woman couldn't intend to drive the rest of the way on her own, could she? She'd just given birth, for heaven's sake. She needed rest, and the baby needed-

The jacket was moving.

"No." Sam whispered. " No. Tell me she didn't-" She wrenched open her door and hurried out, hoping the slight ditch to where her jacket lay, still wriggling.

Almost afraid to look, she bent down and unwrapped the fabric. The tiny newborn lay inside, pink and healthy and squirming.

"Oh, God, she left you. How could she- how could anyone?"

Sam gathered the baby, jacket and all, into her arms, then felt the rustle of paper as she rose.

A note, written on the back of an old envelope with the address torn off, was stuffed in a pocket of the jacket.

Sam,

His name is Cal. I hope you'll let him keep it.

We were supposed to meet so I could give him to you. That's what I meant by what I said before. You've been wanting a baby- and you got one. I've been wanting a solution, and you were it for me. This was meant to be. That man I knew was right. I always knew he was special. My Cal is all yours now. And don't worry I won't change my mind about this.

Ever.

The note was unsigned. Sam folded it and tucked it into her jeans pocket.

Then, snuggling the baby close to her chest, she walked back to her car. She looked up and down the deserted stretch of pavement, but she didn't see any sign of the girl or her car. No headlights approached, announcing that the new mother had come to her senses.

And then she looked up to the sky, silently asking the stars overhead what she was supposed to do next. As she stood there in the night, a star shot in an arcing path right over her head.

Like an answer. Like a wish.

He cried softly, and Sam stared down into the open, unfocused blue, blue eyes of a newborn baby boy. She smiled.

"Hi, Cal," she said softly. " I think maybe. . . I think maybe I'm going to be your mommy. What do you think about that?" She was almost trying out the notion, testing the words as she said them. But they felt so good, she could barely believe it.

She didn't know how she would pull this off- find the mother and make it legal, she supposed. Somehow she would find a way. Somehow she could make this work. Somehow. . .

Somehow, in one night on her way to a new life, her dream had come true. Whoever that man was who'd told the girl that if you wanted something badly enough, it could happen, he must have been wise. A guru or a holy man or something, because this felt like a gift. Like it really was meant to be.

Bending, she pressed her lips to Cal's forehead as tears, happy ones this time, rolled down her cheeks. " I'll find a way to make this work, Cal. I promise. And I will be the best mother you could ever wish for."

**Well this is a new story I hope u guys like it. REVIEW If u want me to continue it **


	2. Hey Stranger

KISS ME, KILL ME

Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly sadly

CHAPTER 1

Present Day

"Go, Cal! Woo hoo!" Sam pumped her fist in the air when her lanky teenage son nailed the soccer ball with the inside of his size ten foot, sending it like a bullet past the goalie and into the net. He glanced her way, gave her a half smile that didn't reach his eyes, then tapped the yellow band on his arm to remind everyone watching who that goal was for.

As she sat down again, Sam was embarrassed by her sudden out burst. It was inappropriate, given the circumstances.

The game continued, and she looked around at the other spectators. Parents and other locals, mostly, lining the bleachers at the edge of an extensive and well-groomed field behind Ridgeway High School hadn't yet started- even though pre-season games and practices had begun for soccer, track and cheerleading.

September in Seattle had a definite scent to it, and a distinct feeling to it, as well. You'd know autumn was coming even if you couldn't see or hear a thing. The leaves were beginning to turn, though they were nowhere near their peak just yet. The sun was just as bright as it had been all summer long, but not as hot anymore, and the breeze had a brisk snap that was missing in the summer months. Fall was rolling in. You could feel it, taste it in the air.

But there was something besides autumn hanging in the air around Seattle. There was a pall that was hard to miss. A lingering darkness that hadn't let up for five days. It only grew, in fact. Everyday that Kyle Becker didn't come home, Seattle got a little grimmer, a little grayer.

Even the tourists must know the reason for the town's unusual melancholy mood by now. It was hard to miss, with the Teen Runaway posters stapled to every telephone pole, fence post and unsuspecting maple tree, and the thrice-daily gathering and dispatching of volunteer search parties in front of the old firehouse, just in case something had happened to him, a possibility no one wanted to contemplate too intently.

Every player on the soccer teams, the Blackberry Chiefs as well as the Ridgeway Vikings, wore a yellow arm band to show unity in hoping the missing sixteen-year-old would come home soon. Five days. Sam didn't know what the kid was thinking.

"Nice boot," someone said nearby.

Sam looked up to see local cop Bryan Kendall, in uniform, sitting four feet to her right. "It was, wasn't it?" she said. " How are you Bryan?"

He shrugged. "Been better."

"I imagined you're over your head in wedding plans about now, aren't you? What have you got, six weeks to go?"

"Just under. But it's not the wedding plans weighing me down. Though I got to tell you, I'd just as soon elope and get straight to the honeymoon."

"I'll bet."

"It's this Kyle Becker thing," he said.

She nodded, sighing. "The timing couldn't be much worse, could it?"

"Not much. Touch checking every stranger in town at the kickoff of leaf-peeper season."

She nodded in sympathy as she scanned the bleachers, spotting a few unfamiliar faces among the locals, even here. Not many. The tourists preferred winery tours and foliage photo-ops to high school sporting events. But a few of them had discovered the soccer match and decided to watch. One in particular caught her eye. He sat a few rows down and off to the left, and he was immersed in a supermarket tabloid with Seattle's latest scandal splashed on its front page.

Dead Woman Misidentified for More Than Sixteen Years.

Anonymous Source Puts Up Half-Million-Dollar Reward for Her Missing Baby.

Sam closed her eyes, shook her head, wishing the story of her son's birth would go away already. But it was everywhere. And the idiot offering the reward wasn't helping.

All those years ago, the dead woman had been identified as one Sarah Quilan. It was only in the past few weeks, that her true identity, Carly Shay, had been revealed. That had renewed interest in the case, and the additional information that the dead woman had given birth only weeks prior to her murder had given the story legs.

No one in Seattle had known that Carly was pregnant or heard anything about a baby, but now everyone in the U.S. of A. suddenly seemed to be interested in speculating on what had become of it. Especially with the huge reward thrown into the mix.

Sam hadn't known the dead woman's name when her body had been trundled into her hospital's morgue for autopsy. But she'd recognize her face. It had only been six weeks since she'd last seen it, after all. She'd been searching Seattle for the young woman, hoping to get her to sign the adoption

papers that would officially make Cal Sam's own. On that horrible day, she'd realized that would never happen.

She alone knew what had become of the murder victim's missing baby. He'd just scored a goal on the soccer field, and he didn't even know he was adopted.

"You know that guy?" Bryan asked.

Sam blinked and realized that her eyes were still glued to the tourist with the tabloid. He had short cut brunette hair and a squared jaw and a little beard hair that was probably supposed to be sexy.

Okay, it was sexy. Just not to her.

He wore black jeans, and a V-neck black shirt with a guitar in front of it and some words underneath, but she was too far away to read them clearly.

"Sam?" Bryan nudged.

"No, no, I don't know him. I was just thinking he looks like a nub."

"Nah, they usually wear dorkier clothes than that." He was being funny.

She wasn't laughing. "So maybe he likes dressing like a normal person should. Can't say I approve of his choice of reading material."

"He probably doesn't care." Bryan nodded in a direction slightly farther left. "That one's reading the same thing , but since he's wearing a button-up suit, you probably don't find it as offensive."

She looked beyond the short-haired man to where Bryan had indicated. Another man sat there, light brown hair in a neat cut that seemed a little too short and too severe for his face. It was a nice face though. He had a deep tan that stood in sharp contrast to his pale brows and even paler blue eyes, giving him a striking appearance. And his suit was impeccable, not to mention expensive.

"It's just as offensive. Though I'm more surprised to see an intelligent- looking guy like that reading it."

"I think he looks like an Oompa- Loompa."

She elbowed Bryan in the rib cage but had to laugh, and it broke a little of the tension. "You're just not used to seeing sun-worshippers at the peak of their color."

"The man is orange."

"He's not orange. He's deeply tanned. And he looks harmless. The nub, on the other hand. . "

"Doesn't look the least bit suspicious to me," Bryan said.

"If you're still checking out tourists, I'd suggest you move that guy to the top of the list."

Bryan rolled his eyes. " I don't seriously think we're looking at a stranger abduction here, Sam. Do you?"

"Of course not. Kyle's sixteen. Same as Cal. God, is hard to believe they're only two years from legal, isn't it?" She sighed. "Anyway, it was a hard bone move on Kyle's part to leave without a word, though. . . Cal insists Kyle would never run off without telling him."

"You think he's right about that?" Bryan asked.

She looked across the field to her son.

"You know how kids are at this age- it's all about the drama. And my son's second favorite activity is the drama club."

"I don't blame him. He kicked ass in 'The Wizard of Oz.'"

She smiled, remembering. He's a natural. "I think he could be a professional actor if he wanted to."

"I agree. I also think he watches too much CSI."

"I hope that's it," Sam said. "I just don't want to believe child abduction is something that can happen here in Seattle." She watched Bryan's face as she spoke, hoping for some conformation of her theories.

He looked away as he said, "I just wish we'd get a lead on Kyle so we would know one way or the other."

Her heart skipped a little. "Bryan are you saying. . . are you saying there's a chance that Cal is right? That Kyle didn't run away?"

He shrugged. "There's no evidence that anything happened to him. Every indication is that he just took it into his head to run off. I just wish he'd call his family and fess up already. It's cruel, putting them through this. They're good people."

"I never thought of Kyle as a cruel kid," she said.

Bryan averted his eyes. "Yeah, I know. It does seem out of character, and that's what's bothering me about all this."

It sounded to Sam as if Bryan might be rethinking the current popular theory about Kyle's disappearance, and that realization sent a chill up her spine. But before she could question him further, she saw his eyes widen and followed his gaze to the field just in time to witness a teeth-jarring impact between a player and the ground. There was no one near the kid, so obviously no one had hit him. He was clutching his chest, and his mouth was open wide.

"Got to go, Bry!" Sam grabbed her medicine bag, always near by at sporting events, and bounded between spectators to get to the field.

The crowd was on its feet but parted to let her through. She wasn't in panic- this happens on a fairly regular basis, and it was usually nothing. As she cleared the knot of players and parents being held at bay by the coaches and refs, she saw the boy.

The kid on his back was Marty Sheffield, and he had a full-blown asthma attack going on. She could tell that his pulse was skyrocketing; his eyes were rolling back already, and his lips were blue.

"Okay, Marty, easy now. Easy." She yanked an inhaler from her bag. She also kept one in her glove compartment and two at her house. The number of asthmatic teens was ridiculous and seemed to be growing all the time. Not just in Seattle, but nationwide, and she blamed air pollution, though she couldn't prove it.

"You're going to be fine," she said automatically as she knelt beside the fallen boy, held the inhaler to his lips and gave him two short bursts. He tried to suck the medicine into his lungs, but she didn't think he'd gotten very much.

"Are you sure?"

That was a new voice. Male, and not local, because she knew all the locals.

"I know CPR if-"

"He's breathing," Sam lifted her eyes and damn near gasped aloud when she saw the nub from the bleachers kneeling on the opposite side of the prone player. His eyes were an interesting shade of brown, and they were filled with concern as they bore into hers. He was far better looking than he'd seemed at first glance. Not that she had time to think about that right now.

"What are you doing down here? Do you know this kid?"

"No, but I-"

"Then you should get back to your seat with the rest of the spectators."

He lifted his brows as if mildly offended. "Happy to. I just thought you might need an extra pair of hands, with every firefighter and EMT in town out searching for that missing boy."

He was paying attention to local news, wasn't he? she thought, as she finished a premeasured dose of epinephrine from her bag, tore off the cellophane wrap and jabbed the needle into Marty's arm.

The man with the perfect jawline and cheekbones started to rise, but she said, "Hey, hold up a sec. You're right I might need you." And then she looked past him, her entire focus on her son, who was hurrying toward her. Sweat had smeared the black smudges underneath his eyes, making him look even more menacing to the opposing team, she supposed . If a kid like Cal could ever look menacing, anyway. She saw his massive red SUV nearby and realized he must have run to the parking lot to go get it, then driven it out to the field to transport his teammate if a trip to the E.R turned out to be necessary. Now he held up the keys.

"Can you drive, so I can tend to Marty?" She asked the stranger.

"Sure."

She ran a hand over Marty's forehead, lifting the sweat damp hair away. He was semi-conscious, and breathing a little easier, though his airway sounds were still terrible. He was whistling louder than the referees had been. She waved the coach over. "Get him into the back of Calvin's Beast," she said, using their nickname for the Ford Expedition Funk master Flex Edition that was Calvin's pride and joy. The coach and the stranger worked together to lift Marty and then ease him into the cargo area.

"I can't believe this," Cal said, standing at the rear of the vehicle, looking in at his friend. "First Kyle goes missing, and now Marty-"

"Marty has had asthma attacks before, and he'll have them again, hon, but i guarantee you, he's going to be fine."

"I've never seen him this bad."

She peered under Marty's eyelids as she spoke, "He'll be fine- really- but I'll be at least an hour. Finish the game, ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Cal promised. By that time, Sadie, his blue-eyed blond cheerleader girlfriend, was at his side, looking worriedly into the back of the car.

"Mom says he'll be okay," Cal told her.

"Thank God." She sent Sam a hopeful look. "Take good care of him, Doc-P."

"You bet I will. His parent's are over there," she said, pointing. They'd been on their way to the refreshment stand when they got the word that something had happened to their son, and they were still making their way to the field. Sam gave the worried pair an encouraging wave. "Tell them to follow us to the hospital, and that I'm just taking precautions, okay?"

"Sure, Sam," Sadie replied.

Sam spotted the nub, still standing nearby.

"Give that guy the keys, Cal. He's driving."

Cal nodded, then tossed the stranger the keys. He caught them easily.

"Go easy on my wheels, bro," Cal said, and then made a fist and gave the stranger a knuckle bump.

The man looked a little puzzled, not by the knuckle bump, but by Cal's words. Still, he closed the back hatch after Sam climbed inside, then moved around to get behind the wheel.

Freddie felt as if he'd step into some kind of alternate dimension. He was driving a forty-thousand dollar vehicle that apparently had belonged to a teenage kid. There was a beautiful woman in the back who was by all appearances, exactly the opposite of his type in every imaginable way, and yet he was attracted to her. How could he not be? She was confident, capable- if a bit bossy- and completely comfortable with herself.

He had come to this small New England town in search of a sixteen year old who might be his own child- only to immediately learn that just such a kid was missing and a presumed runaway, and now another one was having a serious medical crisis right before his eyes.

Not that the posters of Kyle Becker bore any resemblance to anyone in his family. If you could call it a family. Nor did the kid in the back. Hell , the gorgeous lady doctor's apparently spoiled son looked more like him than any teenager he'd glimpse so far.

Yeah, right, and was he going to get all worked up over every sixteen year old in Seattle, male or female, who bore a slight resemblance to himself? That would be useless. He'd come to this town to talk to the professor who'd been living as Carly- scratch that, as Carly Shay- all this time. His Carly had almost never used her full first name. He was here to see what the professor knew, not to stalk teenagers.

Since the good professor was out of town, he would just have to wait and bide his time.

Freddie lived his life by a certain code, and while it wasn't one that most people would agree wither even understand, it worked for him. He believed thinking positively would bring positive experiences. He believed being kind to others would bring kindness into his own life. He believed that was what meant to happen tended to happen- if you didn't go around trying to force it. Trying to force things to happen usually only managed to get in their way instead. Pushing too hard would prevent the very thing you were pushing for. He'd seen it happen time and time again.

If he was meant to find Carly's baby- her teenager now, and maybe his own son or daughter- then all he needed to do was relax about it, and keep his eyes and ears open.

And yet he could help but feel an inordinate amount of worry for the injured kid, and even more for the missing one. More than he would have a few weeks ago, before he'd read the news that had convinced him he might have a child here somewhere.

He could imagine how those parents must feel about now. He knew how he had felt, after learning that the girl he lived with for eight months more than sixteen years ago had been killed only six months later after she'd left him. And that she'd given birth not long before her own life had ended. And that no one knew what had become of the baby.

It was like grieving for the loss of something he never had.

Or crying, he thought. Yeah, crying over something he never knew he had. Damn, that was a good line. He needed to write that down.

"When you hit Main Street, take a left," the lady doctor called.

Freddie looked back at her. She had a cellphone to her ear and was muttering stuff about "the patient" to whoever was on the other end. Someone at the hospital, he presumed. Looking at her, he got that tight feeling in his belly was always made him nervous. It wasn't his natural state. "Got it," he said. He took the left, then said, "How far to the hospital?"

"Ten minutes if the traffic is bad. Five if it's good. And by traffic, I mean kids on bikes, tourists on foot, and the occasional mishaving bovine. It's actually only 3.1 miles, but that's as the crow flies. Still it would have taken longer to wait for one of the volunteer firefighters to get back to town and drive the ambulance out there than to drive him ourselves, so-"

"Do you always answer a four-word question with a forty-word reply?"

She frowned, lifting her head to meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. "It was a five-word question."

"I stand corrected. Still-" He broke off when he heard motion, and glanced back to see the boy twisting and thrashing.

"Should I pull over? You need a hand?"

"I'll let you know." She leaned over the boy, and her hair, which was pulled back in a long, blonde and curly ponytail, leaned over with her. "Take it easy, Marty," she said. "You're okay. You just had a particularly stubborn asthma attack, but you're just fine. You have to try to relax, though. Relax and breathe slowly."

Her voice was like silk, Freddie thought. Soft and comforting, while still managing to be firm and strong. A patient wouldn't be likely to argue with a voice like that.

"Right at the next light," she said.

"What?" He was totally off track. "Oh. Got it. I see the signs now anyway."

"Good. When you the hospital on the right, go to the second driveway. That takes you right to the E.R."

"Okay."

"Easy, Marty. We're almost there."

"Doc?" The kid's voice was slurred. "Doc-P?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Am I real bad, then? I am, ain't I?"

"Your grammar is in critical condition, but your body is fine."

"It is? I think I hit my head."

"I'll take a look, but your head is the hardest part of you, sweetie."

The young man laughed softly, and Freddie found himself smiling behind the wheel even as he turned and drove around to the E.R., stopping right in front of the double doors.

The doors opened, and two men with a gurney between them came straight to the back of the SUV. They didn't do a double take when they saw the huge limited edition Ford, so Freddie assumed they were used to seeing it.

He didn't like flashy cars. He didn't usually like the people who drove them, either. And yet he found himself enjoying this car and the woman inside it.

She got out, and started to follow the gurney and her patient inside, but at the last minute she glanced over her shoulder at him. "You can park it and wait, or you can take it back to the soccer match. Thanks for the help."

"You're welcome." She was gone before he could add, "I'm Freddie , by the way."

Not that she probably gave two hoots about what his name was.

However, it occured to him that if anyone knew about the population of Seattle, teenagers included, it would be the local doctor. And depending on how long she'd been there, she might even know more than that.

Sam emerged from the treatment room and was met in the doorway by Marty's parents. "He's fine. I promise," she said.

Janine Sheffield sagged in visible relief. Gary, her husband, closed his eyes briefly. "Can we see him?" they asked.

**Kinda upset that I barely got reviews in the prologue buts its fine I will keep writing cuz I want to. Hmmm interesting isnt it? lol well click the button below for another chap. And thanks for taking your time and reading this guys. :)**


	3. Freddie Benson?

Chapter 2

**Hey u guys Thank You so much for your reviews and I'm glad your liking the story so far (y). I hope u enjoy this chapter as well. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Icarly. Only my own characters.**

"Absolutely. And you can take him home, too. He has a mild concussion, from hitting his head when he went down. Keep an eye on him overnight. Give him another nebulizer treatment tonight, and one in the morning. I don't expect any problems, though." She took a step back and held the door open for them.

They headed in, and Sam let the door fall closed behind them, then spotted the handsome stranger sitting in the waiting room, caught his eyes and lifted her brows. "You waited."

"I didn't want to leave you stranded. The kid's ok, I take it?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine."

"I'm really glad to hear that."

He meant it, she thought. Okay, so he looked like a regular guy just with a touch of dork inside him, but that didn't mean he couldn't like kids. Sam frowned. And he was a stranger in town and there was a kid missing. Was that anything to worry about? She had to wonder. But no, she was not going to start buying into the kids' dramatic theories. Kyle had ran away, end of story. The searchers couldn't find anything in the woods. Kyle would turn up sooner or later, Sam would be near the front of the line to give him a good lecture about the needless scare he'd given the entire town, to say nothing of his poor parents. She hoped he would be grounded for a year, frankly.

Meanwhile, the good-looking stranger was still waiting there, and looking better by the minute, in fact. The more she looked at him, the handsomer he got. What was up with that?

"If you're all set here, come on," he said, "we should get back to the game."

"Match."

"Sorry?"

"In soccer it's a match, not a game."

He lifted his brows.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Sorry. I'm irritating that way. Come on." She turned and started for the exit doors. "Where did you park The Beast?"

"I took a chance and put it in a reserved spot," he said. "I figured with wheels like that, everyone knows they were yours."

"Not mine." She held the door open until he joined her outside, and fell into step beside him. "My son's. It's his pride and joy."

"I'll bet. Not too many kids can afford to drive around in something like that." He extracted the keys from his pocket, aimed the key ring at the shiny red SUV and hit the unlock button, then held them out to her.

"Oh, he can't afford it, either, believe me. It was a gift."

He held out the keys, but she shook her head. "Do you mind driving? I'm not real comfortable maneuvering something that size just yet. We- he hasn't had it all that long."

He shrugged. "So it was a recent gift, then."

She nodded, then got in the passenger side and fastened her seat belt. The stranger got behind the wheel, stuck the keys into the ignition. and then paused and turned to face her. "I'm Freddie Benson, by the way."

She smiled, because it was so ludicrous that they haven't even exchanged names until now. "Sam Puckett." She clasped his hand, and it was warm as it closed around hers. Big, too. And strong, his grip firm and sort of lingering. "Thanks again for the help today."

"You are more than welcome." He looked at their clasped hands for a moment, a frown creasing his brow, and she felt uncomfortable enough to break the contact. There had been a little hint of attraction just then, she thought. And this guy was not even close to her type.

He started the engine and backed out of the parking spot.

"Freddie Benson," she said as he drove. "Why does that name familiar?"

He shrugged. "So how does a kid your son's age- what is he seventeen?"

"Sixteen," she said.

"Sixteen." He nodded. "So how does a kid of sixteen rate a gift like this? You're quite a generous mom."

"No way did I buy this for him. It's worth three of what I drive."

He looked surprised. "His father, then? Let me guess. He's trying to earn brownie points to make up for the divorce."

She frowned at him.

He shot her a sheepish look. "Sorry. Too personal huh? I just noticed you aren't wearing a ring, so I figured-"

"You figured wrong. And if you're thinking my son is a spoiled rich kid, then you've got that wrong too. He's a great kid. Exceptional. And believe me he earned this baby, or I wouldn't have let him accept it."

He swallowed hard. Then he said, "Sorry if I hit a nerve. You're right, that was what I was assuming. I of all people, should know better than to judge anyone by appearances. You have my apologies."

She blinked, realizing she'd been judging him by his appearance from her first glimpse of him. "I didn't mean to snap. It's been a long week. The truth is, he saved a woman's life. She gave him the SUV to thank him."

"That sounds like a fascinating story."

"It is. Carly- God, I'll never get used to calling her that. Sarah was probably a little too generous. But she really wanted him to have it, and I couldn't say no."

He paused for a long moment, then cleared his throat and said, " You're talking about Sarah Quinlan aren't you? The professor who's been living as Carly Shay for the past sixteen years."

She shot him a quick sideways glance.

"Sorry. It was all over the news. Pretty hard to miss." he said.

"Probably."

"So you know her, then? The professor?"

"I know her pretty well, yes."

He compressed his lips as if in thought, and then said, "I don't suppose you could introduce me? I'd really like to talk with her."

She lifted her brows. "God, don't tell me you're another reporter!"

"No, I-"

"Do you actually write for that rag I saw reading at the soccer match?"

"No! No. That's not it at all."

"No? Then why do you want to meet her?"

He shrugged. "It's personal."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, it's impossible, anyway. She's on her honeymoon. Cal and I are keeping an eye on her place while she's away. She took her horse-sized dog with her, thank goodness."

He blinked twice, then looked at her. "Cal?"

"My son."

"Oh." He cleared his throat. "Is that a . . . family name?"

"It's just a name." She lowered her eyes. " You know, the tabloids have it all wrong. Car- Sarah is a terrific person. She had a good reason for using a dead woman's identity all that time. Her own life was in danger."

"Yeah, but the dead woman whose identity she stole had left a baby behind, somewhere. Didn't she even consider she might be robbing some family of all they had left of a loved one?"

"She didn't know about the baby until a few weeks ago. All she knew was that the real Carly was alone in the world."

"I see,"

She drew a breathe and tried to calm her racing nerves. God, if anyone ever found out that her Cal was the long-dead woman's missing child, she would lose him. She would lose the most precious thing in her world, and no doubt her job and probably her medical license along with that those things mattered. Without Sam, she wouldn't have anything anyway. He was everything to her.

And this man seemed far too curious about local gossip for her piece of mind. He pulled into the school parking lot, which was abandoned by then, with the exception of a blue corvette. The soccer match had long since ended, and she didn't even know which team had won.

She looked at the chevy . "I take it that's yours?"

"Mmm-hmm. You like it?"

"Yeah."

He smiled at her, a genuine smile that made her catch her breath. She looked at him curiously. "Just what do you do, Freddie Benson?"

"I'm an actor." he told her. And then he got out of the SUV and walked toward his bus. When he opened the driver's door she glimpsed a poster of him resting on the passenger seat and a GPS on the dashboard. He lifted a hand to her just before getting in. "I'll see you around, Sam Puckett."

She paused, then got out and went over to his car . He'd closed the door, but the window was down. "People have been gathering at the old firehouse three times a day to go out searching for Kyle Becker, the missing boy. Next shift gathers at four. I'm pretty sure they'd welcome another volunteer."

He nodded. "I'll be there."

"Good."

He started his motor and put the car into gear as music spilled from its speakers. The Script. Good stuff. Then he drove away and left her wondering why she'd delivered the spontaneous invitation.

A kind, intelligent, kid-loving actor who listened to The Script and drove a chevy.

He might not be her type , but she had to admit , the man was interesting. And damn good-looking. If you were into that wind swept hair, bad boy look, anyway. Which she, she reminded herself sternly , definitely was not


	4. Swollen Knee

**Hey guys I'm back! SOOOOO sorry I had you guys waiting. Things haven't been the best around here.. But anyway thanks to all those who follow and review the story, you guys are the best. And even for those who don't Thank you for reading the story anyways. Here's Another Chapter! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly **** sadly.**

Sam drove her son's ridiculously ostentatious car away from the high school, and thought about Freddie Benson and why his name sounded so familiar. He obviously was well-off, driving a Chevy around the way he did. A drifter, by his own admission. She'd always wondered what drove men like that. Her own father had suffered from what her mother had called itchy feet. She'd grown up hating it. _Hating_ it. Just when she would get used to one school district and begin to make new friends, her father would yank up stakes and make them move again It had been traumatic to her as a child and even more so as a teen. But her mother had always put her father first, ahead of her own child. And she'd hated that too.

She'd never understood the wanderlust.

And she was irritated that she was thinking about painful elements of her childhood just because some stranger had wandered into her E.R. To hell with that. She reached for the MP3 player's controls, found the playlist titled Just For Mom and, smiling a little at her son's thoughtfulness, hit the Play button.

Then as the smooth, soothing guitar and sweet voice of Taylor Swift filled the car, she relaxed and enjoyed the rest of the drive.

Her modified A-frame was waiting, as peaceful as always. Cal and the ever present Sadie sat on the broad front porch. As Sam pulled the SUV up to the oversized garage, she saw that Cal had his legs extended, feet on a wicker footstool and an ice pack on his knee.

Frowning, she parked the SUV, hit the button to close the garage door, then hurried outside, across the drive and up the steps to the first level of her two-story wraparound deck.

"What happened?" Sam dropped her medical bag and purse on the glass topped wicker table, and crouched in front of her son to remove the cold pack.

"Nothing, Mom. It's just a little swollen and sore from overuse. Coach said to ice it."

"Coach didn't go to medical school." She poked and prodded at his swollen knee, then flexed it a few times, one hand over the kneecap to feel for any problems.

"So what's the diagnosis, Doc?" Cal asked.

She tried not to smile and said, "It's strained from overuse. Ice it."

"Thank God for med school, huh?"

"Watch it, pal." She smiled at his teasing, though, and finally turned to Sadie. "Hi, hon. How's your day going?"

"Better now that you're here. You wouldn't believe how he's been whining about the game."

"Lost, huh?" Sam asked her son.

"By one. _One._ On a penalty shot based on a bad call. You wouldn't even _believe_-"

She held up a hand. "Yes, I would."

Cal gave them both the stink-eye and tried to change the subject. "How's Marty?"

"He's fine, hon. No side effects. Just a nasty bout of asthma and a bump on the head to boot."

"Good thing Mart's got a thick skull," Sadie put in.

"That's what I told him." Sam almost sighed as she looked at her watch. " It's almost time for the afternoon round of searching for Kyle. But maybe you ought to take tonight off, Cal. Rest your knee."

"No way, I'm not going to stop looking until we find him."

She thinned her lips but didn't argue. "It's your call, hon. But I really don't think we're going to find Kyle by trekking through the woods."

"I know what you think," he said. "And you know I think you're wrong. Dead wrong. Kyle didn't run away.He _wouldn't_ run away. Something happened to him—something bad."

"I know you believe that—"

"And no one's taking it seriously. Everyone's assuming he just ran off, that he isn't out there somewhere, needing help."

"Regardless of what anyone believes, Cal, everyone is out looking. Bryan Kendall swears that he and everyone else in the police department are treating this like a missing person case, not like a runaway, just in case. So all the bases are covered."

"Right," Sadie said. "And we appreciate how much time you've been putting into the search, Sam. Even though you don't think its going to get us any results."

"Thanks for saying so," Sam said. And she gave the girl a smile thinking again how much she liked Sadie. She was tough and smart and not afraid to say her piece, kinda like her. Girls were growing up strong these days. She liked that, too.

**Its shorter than usual but please don't kill me. I suck at posting when I really want to but its impossible with the amount of homework you get in college. Thanks for sticking around you guys. **** Review!**


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